Giving Thanks
by SlvrSoleAlchmst1
Summary: [Some shounen ai: Dearka x Yzak.] When Yzak tells Dearka that he wants to reveal their relationship to Ezaria on Thanksgiving, Dearka isn't sure what to think. The decision is nervewracking, but Dearka discovers Yzak is worth all the risk in the world.


_A/N: I judged a contest between three lovely SEED authoresses a while back. When _**Tobi Tortue**_ won with her story, "Tsunami," I had her request a prize fic. Her prompt: "__Because Dearka's parents leave for vacation, he is left alone at home during Thanksgiving. Fortunately, Yzak invites him to the Joule estate for dinner... or _unfortunately_, because Yzak intends to use the opportunity to tell his mother about his future with Dearka... as a lover.__" _

_It was a tough prompt for me. Finally, I decided that for the scenario to be believable, Dearka and Yzak would have to be at a point where their relationship was more developed and mature. That meant Destiny timeline. The next question was, "How to make them sound changed without seeming OOC?" I settled for a calmer writing style, a more advanced vocabulary (thank you, thesaurus), heightened diction/imagery, and Dearka's more romantic POV (I usually write from Yzak's). The result was a rather profound emotional ride, I think. _

_I hope they come across still sounding like Dearka and Yzak, even though time has passed and their love has transcended to a more serious level. And I hope you like it, _**Tobi**_. You're amazing, and I give you this fic with all my love and enthusiasm!_

There was no place Dearka would have rather been than there in the bed, with Yzak's arms wrapped around his back. The sounds of their indulgence drifted through the room like feather down. Yzak shifted beneath Dearka with a moan, and the covers slipped from Dearka's bare shoulders. The blonde moved too, languidly, bending down to lay another soft kiss on his lover's neck. He savored the pressure when Yzak arched against him, felt the tingle of gently receding pleasure as the aftermath wore away and left only the sensation of contentment. Such a climactic finish left him lightheaded.

Yzak's voice caressed his ear then, his breath coming moist and heavy. "Dearka…"

Dearka felt a burst of passion explode in his chest. He sealed his lips over Yzak's – carefully, sweetly – as if Yzak were a precious cut of diamond, never to be lost. He could taste the sound of his name on Yzak's pliant lips.

"I'm right here, Yzak," he whispered when they had separated. The frenzy had faded; lethargy took him next. "That was…"

The blonde could not find the proper words to describe their lovemaking. It had been earnest, intense, and surging with affection. Dearka could not remember ever having experienced such a tender engagement. He relieved his arms of the weight they had been supporting, then sank slowly down to the mattress.

Yzak tangled his fingers in Dearka's hair and pulled him closer. "That was incredible, Dearka." The statement was euphoric, drugged with leftover waves of exhilaration. "That was like nothing I've…"

"Don't," Dearka groaned, enjoying the warmth that seeped from Yzak's willowy body. "Don't keep doing that thing with your voice, where it goes low and husky, or I'm going to have to make that amazing sex happen all over again." The bed shook with what he assumed to be Yzak's silent mirth. "I don't think I have the energy do it twice," he clarified, though he began at once to nibble on Yzak's earlobe.

It was the silver head's turn to groan. "Then you shouldn't be tempting me again."

Dearka let a smile creep onto his features as he noticed his fingers had begun to trace erotic patterns on Yzak's exposed skin. "Sorry."

They lingered there, mingled breathing like the postlude to their copulation. Dearka closed his eyes in reflection. Such a satisfying and passionate encounter - one of many he'd shared with Yzak in the past - and yet this one had felt like the single most fulfilling moment of his life. Yzak infused him with something unique and satiating, something wildly unadulterated. While it had always been rewarding to slake his lust at the silver head's fount, Dearka found he thirsted more heartily for their recent, immersed encounters. Those exchanges had possessed something beyond the realm of mortal feeling. Dearka rolled over onto his back.

He couldn't help but think that their emotions had transcended, to a level high above what either of them had previously imagined.

Yzak acted suddenly. He leaned over, kissed Dearka full on the mouth. Dearka couldn't help himself; he stretched an arm upward to lock it around Yzak's neck. The kiss was hot and wanting. It implored him. It exalted him. It set him burning with desire – a desire that threatened to erupt from the cage of his chest.

Dearka extracted himself from the embrace. Regret gnawed at him, but he strove to court resolution instead.

"Yzak."

The silver head was trailing wanton kisses across his collarbone, lighting him with fire. "I don't want to stop, Dearka. This feeling is so…"

"I know." Dearka had never spoken truer words in his life. He could barely breathe for the pressure that built inside his heart. "I know. I was the one rocking your world, remember?" He could feel Yzak smirk against his skin. "But we haven't got much time left."

Yzak stiffened, as if the truth in the announcement triggered danger. "Damn it," he cursed softly.

The way the silver head hissed his disappointment almost made Dearka proud. He grinned. There was something visceral about Yzak those days, something receptive that hadn't always been present. He was less ruled by cold logic; he'd been gifted with an air of subtle wisdom that was fed by emotion rather than by protocol. There was no doubt that Yzak still possessed his former traits, but those traits had gained understanding.

Dearka lifted the covers, loathe to break the spell of their unity. He heard Yzak sigh. He stood up and tried to dress without thinking of how badly he yearned to resume their former fraternizing.

"We only have one more day off, Dearka," Yzak grumbled, rolling off the bed to fight with his pants. He swore at them when they tangled around his ankles. "I don't want to go back home."

"Then stay with me."

"Don't be a bastard. You know my mother insists on celebrating Thanksgiving with me every year." Yzak's tone was contemptuous, but Dearka could tell that he'd given up fighting the convention eons ago.

Dearka's mind flickered to their earlier days, when the silver head's irrefutable ire used to permeate every action and punctuate every sentence. He wondered immediately if the right words could still rile Yzak's temper for the better.

He decided to try his luck. "Face it, Joule - your mommy loves you. You should give her a break."

The response was instantaneous. "Shut up, Elsman." Yzak's shirt flew on with angry precision.

"Embrace the situation," Dearka went on. "You're a momma's boy. You may _say_ you don't want to go home, but Thanksgiving without Ezaria Joule just wouldn't be Thanksgiving at all, would it?"

The lips that Dearka had kissed so compassionately thinned into a perilous line. "If you don't stuff it, I will personally demote you to _below_ the rank of green coat the second we get back to the Voltaire, you swine."

"You mean _after_ you get done explaining why the two of us took leave on the same days?"

Yzak flung the bedroom door open and tried to lose Dearka around the corner. "Arrgh – will you please get a grip!"

"I _had_ a good grip," Dearka drawled. "On you just recently, in case you've forgotten."

Yzak flushed a brilliant red. "ELSMAN!"

Dearka congratulated himself. Even if it had gotten harder to make the silver head explode, he still possessed the expertise required to do so. He resisted the urge to rub his hands together fiendishly and murmur a sibilant, "_Excellent._"

"I'm serious though, Yzak," he added when they reached the kitchen. "Go home. If you stay here the whole time, your mother is going to think we're screwing each other or something."

Yzak shot him a wry grin. "And isn't that exactly what we're doing?"

A steady thumping echoed in Dearka's chest as emotion filled him once more. "Well. Granted, but… I'd like to think it's more than that."

Yzak met his gaze coolly. "It is."

Two seemingly unaffected words, but they were all Dearka needed to feel waves of heightened ardor for the second time that evening. To feel this way – to know that _Yzak_ felt this way – was a satisfaction like none other, as well as a mighty distraction. Dearka found himself subjecting to Yzak's next statement before he had allowed its meaning to sink in.

"I'm going to tell her, Dearka."

"Hmm?" he asked, still smiling to himself.

Yzak regarded him silently for a moment, as if he were a member of crew maintenance responsible for malfunctioning machinery. Dearka tried in vain to recall exactly what had been said, that he might let the words penetrate him afresh. His attempt failed, so he shrugged expectantly.

"I said, Elsman, that I plan to tell my mother I'm seeing you."

It took a moment for the words to connect. Dearka's mouth felt suddenly dry. "Why would you want to do that?"

Immediately Dearka longed to take back his question. It sounded naïve, even to his own ears. He knew he would deserve whatever reprimands left Yzak's mouth in response.

But Yzak hardly changed his expression.

The silver head perched on the side of a stray chair and folded his arms. "What about your father? What does _he_ think of this?" he asked. "He knows, correct?"

Dearka was slightly taken aback. "Yeah," he said. "I told him."

"And?"

"I-I guess…" Dearka's mind strayed to his father. Tad Elsman, though a decent parent by Dearka's judgment, had never taken much interest in the more recreational aspects of his son's young life. "I guess he doesn't mind." Dearka laughed. "Hell, me making it into ZAFT and helping to save the PLANTs nearly made him wet himself with pride, even if I did go and defect afterward. When I came back despite that, he was even _more_ proud of me. I suppose as long as I continue to do well as your subordinate, he has no problem with any of this."

Yzak had a hand under his chin now, like a stoic figure carved from some monumental stone. He seemed to be musing.

Dearka swallowed. "But your mom, Yzak… she never quite forgave me for what I did. The Three Ship Alliance brought down the Genesis, after all. That nearly ruined her career."

"You're not responsible for her declining career," Yzak snapped. "Don't let me hear you blaming yourself like that again."

"Yes sir, Commander Joule," Dearka joked weakly. If he had been wrapped in layers of elation moments ago, he felt nothing but dread now. Yzak sat brooding, turned inward as if there were an idea he batted back and forth.

"Come to Thanksgiving dinner with me," the silver head said finally, his eyes as unyielding as ice. "Dearka, you know how I feel. I want this more than anything. I'm tired of waltzing around like it doesn't matter."

Dearka froze. The intensity radiating from Yzak passed through him, leaving a shiver in its wake. He knew he had nothing to fear, but nonetheless, a brick had settled itself in the pit of his stomach, and it squatted with the weight of a thousand uncertainties. Dearka risked a glance up – Yzak was watching him.

He reigned in his hesitancy for Yzak's sake. "Okay," he said simply.

"You'll come tomorrow?"

Dearka smiled and tried to conceal the effort it took to hold it in place. "You bet, Yzak."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Tension cut the air like some hellish machete. What bothered Dearka most was that he seemed to be the only one experiencing repercussions.

He spread his napkin on his lap with all the poise of a gentleman, or rather… he _tried_ to. It shouldn't have been as hard as it was. He'd been raised with a refined knowledge of table manners. He rarely put them to _use_ – there was no denying that - but he hardly thought his negligence constituted punishment in the form of Thanksgiving humiliation. Dearka's memory had never been a foggy thing. He shouldn't have been warring with the concept of how to spread a napkin on his own lap.

If either of his hosts noticed his renegade fingers, they showed no sign. Ezaria Joule sipped wine from a long-stemmed glass. Yzak speared a hunk of turkey with his fork. Dearka took a drink of water while praying his brow was not beading with sweat, and all three of them tried to speak at the same time.

"What did you two do last night?" Ezaria asked, just as Yzak inquired, "Are those candlesticks new?" and Dearka said, "Pass the potatoes." There followed a short pause.

Yzak cleared his throat, his recovery quickest. "Dearka and I were at his apartment yesterday," he said. Then he passed Dearka the potatoes.

Dearka took them, grateful that his hands had been provided with something to hold on to. Ezaria said, "I see. I'm glad to hear you enjoyed your time off," and again they fell into the quagmire of silence.

The Thanksgiving spread emanated delicious aromas, and the plethora of festive autumn color added variety to the display. Dearka supposed he should admire the result of Ezaria Joule's expertise; she'd dismissed the household servants and done all the labor herself, from basting the turkey to peeling and mashing the potatoes. Dearka had insisted upon helping her with the potatoes while Yzak arranged the silver at the place settings, but the brunt of the meal had been Ezaria's singular talent. The three of them conversed jovially during the preparations, reminiscing and talking of current events. Mostly, Dearka had kept his responses short, to allow Yzak and his mother time to catch up. They'd had a lot to say to one another, and Dearka enjoyed listening and making comparisons between the austere Ezaria Joule and her even more austere offspring.

Now Dearka sat, wreathed in the fragrance of pumpkin pie, with the taste of tart cranberry sauce on his tongue and stuffing poking from the inside of the turkey, but the pleasantries wafted over him like air. He thought of the pilgrims that were said to have landed in North America, in an age long before the Cosmic Era had begun. He wondered if what they were celebrating served as much purpose now that food was processed and mankind lived in space with manipulated genes. Then he felt ungrateful.

"Thanks again for having me, Mrs. Joule," Dearka said, relieved to hear his voice sounded casual.

"You can thank Yzak," Ezaria replied. She cut her turkey with dainty precision. "It was his idea."

"Don't bother," Yzak insisted immediately. "It was only natural to have you join us under these circumstances." Dearka thought he noticed Ezaria falter with her spoon.

Anxiety assailed Dearka like a plague of mobile suits. _Under these circumstances_. He swallowed his mashed potatoes, but they went down like tasteless lead. There was a chance Yzak was referring to Tad's absence and Dearka's lack of additional relatives to spend the holiday with. With any luck, Ezaria had interpreted the words in much the same fashion. Dearka strove to calm himself. It wasn't as if the silver head had spoken with any hint of subtext. His voice had been calm, controlled.

But perhaps that was the problem.

Dearka shifted in his seat as the alternative meaning of Yzak's sentence invaded his mind. _It was only natural to have you join us under these circumstances… because after all, isn't that what couples do?_

Dearka toyed with his knife. He wanted the liberty to admit his love for Yzak inside the Joule household, as much as Yzak craved the freedom for himself. But Ezaria's reaction was the unknown variable, the factor that might destroy their hopes. Dearka didn't like unknowns. In _battle_, the unexpected was second nature to him; he didn't panic when new twists required action and risk. But risk when it came to Yzak was something entirely different. Risking Yzak Joule filled Dearka's soul with fear of losing what he so desperately cared for.

A warm longing for Yzak succeeded in calming his nerves somewhat. He chanced a look in the silver head's direction. Yzak closed his lips around a spoonful of cranberry sauce, oblivious to the way his neck bent to meet the spoon, and how the candlelight glinted in his sharp blue eyes. Dearka ingested another forkful of his own meal, reminding himself why he was going through this. Even if it all went wrong… Yzak was worth a million failures.

"How are the counselors?" Yzak asked his mother coolly.

Ezaria served herself a mound of squash. "The Supreme Council is handling itself well. The Chairman is an expert at giving people hope in a time that would otherwise be very dark for the PLANTs."

Dearka did not think the brutality of war was an appropriate topic for Thanksgiving dinner, but he kept his mouth shut. He'd rather speak deeply of fighting and politics than jump at every unexpected sentence, fearful that Yzak would bring up their relationship. But to his horror, Ezaria fell silent. Yzak had nothing to offer in response to his mother's information.

The conversation died like summer, and they again lapsed into quiet. Minutes ticked on, with only the diminishing potatoes on Dearka's plate to mark the passage of time.

"Mother," Yzak ventured, when the buzz of soundlessness had become unbearable. He leaned forward in his chair.

Dearka's fork leapt out of his hand then, to clatter to the floor by their feet. He bit back a curse.

Ezaria wiped her mouth with her napkin, and Yzak bent slowly to pick up the fallen utensil. He handed it to Dearka, utterly expressionless, and their fingertips brushed. The silver head was frighteningly calm; his smooth face sent shivers down Dearka's back.

"Stop being so clumsy, Elsman," he ordered, his lips barely moving. Dearka's head whirled.

"As I was saying," Yzak segued seamlessly, paying no attention to Dearka's sudden Dirty Fork dilemma, "I'll stay the night like you asked, but tomorrow morning I'll be taking a shuttle back to the Voltaire with Dearka."

"I wouldn't ask you otherwise," Ezaria said. "You have duties to attend to as the ship's commander."

Relief had started to soothe Dearka once more, but his heart skipped a beat when he learned Yzak was not finished.

"There's something important I'd like to bring up before I go, Mother."

The oxygen in Dearka's lungs evacuated posthaste.

"Dearka and I—"

But Dearka interrupted. Some unseen hand shoved him forward. He couldn't feel his legs, nor could he detect his own heartbeat, but he knew he needed to speak. If Yzak spoke, he wouldn't mince words, and a direct assault that lacked sensitivity could ruin them. The situation required tact, and Dearka at once understood that he was the only one able to convey the message properly.

"Mrs. Joule," he cut in, and Yzak glared at him. "I'll say it for him, if you'll let me."

"Go on." Ezaria's icy blue eyes bored into his, and Dearka swallowed. Suddenly he doubted his ability to accomplish what was necessary.

"Yzak and I have always been close, for as long as we've known each other." He took a deep breath. He could do this. After all, he was talking about Yzak, whom he found quite rewarding to dwell on in thought. "There came a point when feelings beyond normal friendship began to develop. Things got… taken to another level of… intimacy." The gnawing on his insides made him nauseous. "We went through some uncertainty, but there's never been any question about what we feel. This means a lot to both of us. We've been—"

"For the love of ZAFT, Elsman," Yzak broke in, gritting his teeth. He turned to his mother with his palms flat on the table. "I'm sure it's clear after what Dearka said. That's all there is to it. Don't promise me in marriage to any ditzy Coordinator females, because I won't end up like Zala."

Ezaria didn't move. She hadn't been moving for quite some time.

"Easy there, Yzak," Dearka quipped to fill up space, though his voice cracked halfway through. "I didn't think the Lacus thing was _that_ bad for Athrun."

His wisecrack seemed to draw Ezaria Joule out of her tight-lipped trauma. "I was wondering how long it was going to take you to say something," she said to them finally.

Ezaria's tone was terse, flat, and precise in its knowledge. Dearka felt a warship might as well have broadsided them. But… at least her response had not been not outright inhospitable.

"If you suspected anything before, now you know it from me directly," Yzak said calmly. "As you're my mother, I owed you that much."

For a moment, it seemed Ezaria would explode with anger. Instead she took another sip of wine with lips white as snow. "I knew what you had chosen some time ago," she told Yzak. Her voice held a hint of pain. "Though you've grown in compassion these past years, you've _lost_ what lenience you had when it came to me. I suppose rifts like that are common between parent and child. You had an epiphany that made you resolute, and you knew I would not approve. You turned contemptuous, and you've been distant with me ever since. I can hardly blame you."

Dearka looked at Yzak, suddenly ceasing to care whether their Thanksgiving spread got cold. Ezaria and Yzak had interacted as they always had, chatting in the kitchen and exchanging banter as only a doting mother and an adoring son could. Had it been a front? Somehow the theory of deception wasn't convincing. Yzak had always admired his mother, and he doubted Ezaria would be able to declare a vendetta against her flesh and blood, either. But perhaps there _had_ been a change in their clockwork somewhere, brought about by Yzak's feelings for Dearka. It would certainly explain the way both mother and son had gone tense and silent during dinner. Had Ezaria truly sensed then that something was afoot? Had she known all along that Yzak would use their Thanksgiving reunion to tell her the truth?

"I'll always love you, Yzak," Ezaria said. "But I don't think this juvenile engagement is worth jeopardizing your military career for." Yzak flinched a little upon the use of the word, "juvenile," but otherwise remained stone-faced. "You know very well that sexual relations between commander and subordinate are prohibited. How could you so blatantly ignore protocol, especially after becoming Commander? Not only that, but think of the state of the Coordinator race. We are all obligated to carry out the responsibility that was given to us when George Glenn first shared the secret of our evolution. Birth rates are falling. If we want to preserve the dignity of the PLANTs, we are obligated to—"

She stopped short when Yzak raised a hand to cut her off. For all Dearka's observation, her son may as well have slapped her.

"Save your motivational speeches for the battlefield, Mother," Yzak said curtly.

Dearka's emotions flurried somewhere between fury, relief, and anguish at the grand image of their situation. He had never been so determined in his life, never so tortured with anxiety - yet never had he felt so meek and helpless in retrospect. Yzak pushed out his chair with a dignity that Dearka admired, and he motioned for Dearka to follow suit.

They made their way to the coatroom, where Yzak folded his arms and nodded toward Dearka's jacket. "I'm sorry to cut the revelry short," he said, "But you see where it would go if you stayed."

A lump tried persistently to clog Dearka's throat, but he forced it back. "Yzak, I didn't know what to say in there. I'm sorry. I feel like an ass." The guilt could not have been more potent. Like an injection of poison, it spoiled his insides.

"It's all right," Yzak replied, as if dismissing a mere insect bite. "Thanks for all the help."

Dearka had his jacket on, though through his haze he could not remember buttoning it. He leaned down and planted a kiss on Yzak's cheek, apologizing through sense of touch rather than with words he didn't have. The silver haired male hardly responded.

"Yzak, I just…"

Yzak opened the door. "Just go. You did all you could, Dearka. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

Dearka went, and the door closed behind him to press him out into the chill November air. As he retreated down the walkway, his body numbed with the cold. He searched his pockets for his gloves, but found he'd left them on a chair in Yzak's hallway. Dearka strode on, impassive. He was sure he ought to be feeling something, but the chaos inside the house had shocked him into a blank vertigo. The only thoughts that penetrated his frozen interior were concrete and direct. He noted a brown leaf that crunched underfoot and wondered why the PLANTs insisted upon making their carefully tempered weather mimic that of Earth.

Then Dearka raised his head to the sky. It was clear, of course, as it always was – a velvet blue that faded to black the higher he looked; darkness coalesced near the thin middle realm of the hourglass. Though he could see stars through the cross-hatching of steel frame, there was no moon. There hardly ever was a moon in the PLANTs. The rotation and orbit of a Coordinator home was such that the base of the hourglass usually blocked its light. Dearka decided with an appreciative sigh that that was fine. He could see half of Earth, and Earth was twice as beautiful as any pockmarked wasteland where Naturals built their lunar base. On Earth, blues shone bright where water reigned, and vivid greens and browns marked land. It was a serene image, and Dearka felt himself begin to calm as he looked at it.

_Calm_. He frowned. Yzak had been calm as well. Too calm, and Dearka had found the cause of such behavior hard to absorb. He had been busy battling his own demons of anxiety. Only now, in the crisp air of night as he neared the end of the Joule property, did he think to reflect upon what that calm might have meant.

The answer exposed itself to him like a strip of camera film. Dearka felt like a fool.

Yzak had veiled himself with control for _Dearka's_ sake. Yzak had picked up on Dearka's fear, his uncertainty, his panic, and had sought to relieve him of pressure by drawing the weight onto himself. The only way Yzak Joule could have done that was to steel his own emotions, to wear a mask of severe self-assurance and indifference. Otherwise, how could _Yzak_ - wildly impulsive and irate as Dearka had discovered him to be – have managed such a stoic outward appearance?

Dearka turned around and sprinted up the walkway. He would not leave Yzak to fight alone. He would not make Yzak shoulder the torment by himself, or pretend that all was well when all was not.

The scene that played out in the window where Dearka passed made him halt halfway to his destination.

Through sheer curtains, Dearka recognized two profiles in the dining room. They were standing, facing each other, wrought with rage and angry motion. Yzak had his hands balled into fists; he looked to be yelling. Then he took a step backward as Ezaria flung an arm out dramatically and began to holler back. Mother echoed louder than son. While Yzak's voice had not been recognizable through the barrier, Ezaria's high-pitched roar was far more audible. Dearka thought he heard the word, "disappointment," and he cringed from the inside out.

It was over faster than Dearka anticipated. He witnessed Ezaria sink into the silhouette of a dining room chair, and Yzak's figure stormed hastily from the room soon after. Dearka urged his legs to move. He took the three steps to Yzak's front door in a single leap, praying it was not yet locked. It wasn't. He gripped the handle hard and flung the door open with a bang just as Yzak was passing in the hallway.

"Yzak!"

The silver head whirled. "D-Dearka!"

The door gaped wide, and Dearka breathed puffs of moisture into the house as a gust of icy wind intruded on the exposed entryway.

"What are you doing, Elsman, you idiot?" Yzak exploded, ignoring the seeping cold and lifting a hand swiftly to his eyes. He swiped their dampness clean before Dearka could protest. "I told you not to worry about any of this. You should have just gone home! I—"

Dearka crossed the yards of floor between them in milliseconds. He seized Yzak roughly, wrapping both arms around his waist so no space existed that would separate their bodies. He kissed him with all the passion he possessed, quite unaware of the swiftness of his actions until Yzak reached up to clutch his upper arms in bewilderment. Dearka let each sensation pass over him like cooling rain. He wanted Yzak to know that nothing meant more to him than the moment they were sharing now, right then - that the taste of Yzak's lips and the feel of Yzak's slight form against his was all he wanted and all he'd _ever_ want. He began to use his tongue, but gently, caressing Yzak's lower lip until a delicious moan tore from Yzak's tender throat. Only then did Dearka pull away, but just enough to wrap his lover in a tighter hug, where he buried his face in Yzak's neck and left another token kiss on the bared skin there.

"I love you, Yzak," Dearka said hoarsely. "I love you. You mean more to me than anyone else ever will, god damn it. Like I'd leave you here. Like _hell_ I'd leave you here alone, when right now we need each other most of all." His heart felt like it would explode.

There they stayed, locked in the embrace, holding onto each other as if the world might end and neither would notice. Yzak was safe, whole, and in Dearka's arms, and Dearka would never leave the silver head alone to handle the delicate burden of their relationship again.

Yzak gripped Dearka by the hair, pulled him down so their lips joined once more. Dearka bestowed him with another sweet entanglement of mouth and teeth and tongue. Yzak's cheeks were growing wet again. Dearka moved respectfully from kissing his lips to kissing his neck despite the silver head's obvious wave of feeling; Dearka knew Yzak would not be pleased if he took specific note of the tears.

"I love you too, Dearka," Yzak gasped out, digging his fingers feverishly into Dearka's back as the blonde held him tighter. "I have for a long time now, and we both knew it. I don't care who says what – I'm never going to change my mind."

Dearka raised his head to answer, but it was not his voice that rang out in response.

"Never?"

In another time and place, the sound of Ezaria Joule's entrance might have caused Dearka and Yzak to break apart with faces flushed and guilty.

Dearka drew back enough to give Yzak room, but Yzak kept his arms locked around Dearka's neck, defiant, uncaring. He didn't need to speak. His eyes shot a clear message toward Ezaria, who appeared just as cool when it hit her as she had during dinner.

"If your mind won't be changed, then you must be willing to face the future on your own," she said. "I can't promise you my blessing, Yzak. I hope you understand why I feel so strongly." She took a sudden interest in Dearka's gloves, which lingered on the hallway chair. "There's still time to reconsider," she added curtly.

Ezaria's footsteps faded back the way they had come. Yzak muffled his face in Dearka's chest, and Dearka wondered whether Yzak could hear his rapid heartbeat.

"Well," Dearka ventured when a long moment had passed and both of them had melted into pleasant torpor. "We did _something_ tonight, but it wasn't perfect."

Yzak extracted himself from Dearka's embrace to close the gaping front door. "It won't ever be perfect," he said. "I won't ever be able to count on my mother's acceptance completely."

Dearka faced him readily. "Are you upset?"

The response came snarky and prepared. "Not really. It doesn't matter whether my mother approves. Neither of us are children anymore, Dearka. I never said I wanted to try to make her like it, only that I wanted to tell her."

Dearka's jaw dropped, and Yzak lifted one corner of his mouth in a condescending smirk. Dearka's face screamed, _Then why did you put me through all that hell?_ Yzak's look responded: _It was your own stupidity that made you panic, not me._

"But I really did need you here, Dearka," Yzak said aloud, his voice low with gratitude. "Thank you."

Dearka rolled his eyes in a manner that said he submitted to the inevitable, and rapture filled him to the brim.

"You don't have to thank me," he said. "In fact, considering the occasion, you might try saying something to the turkey instead."

"Idiot."

"Only because I'm in love with you," Dearka declared.

He took Yzak by the hand and led him back to the dinner table. Ezaria wasn't there, but the food was, ready and waiting.

"Happy Thanksgiving," he said, and Yzak squeezed his hand tighter.


End file.
